In the Midst of Darkness
by Victory32
Summary: Some of the worst things that happen in the dark have nothing to do with the supernatural. Complete AU, set early in series. Warning: graphic violence/non-con rape/adult content. *FINISHED*
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: No I don't own anything, not a single thing when it comes to Supernatural. Suprise.

Authors Note: Though this story starts out fairly mild it is bound to take a dark path and get graphic. Rated M because of language and subject matter (sexual assualt). If this isn't something you want to read- stop now. You have been warned.

* * *

IT WAS THE FOURTH RING WHEN SAM FELT HIS HEART DROP.

"This is Dean. Leave a message."

_Beep._

"Dean when you get this message—" he stopped. "When you get this message call me. Cause I'm worried about you alright." Sam drew in a shaky breath, "Really worried. Please just call me."

Ending the connection Sam tossed the phone on the bed and leaned back in the ratted old chair repeating his last words into an empty room, _"Please just call me."_

The words stung at his ears, they sounded wrong. Then again Dean just walking out the door and never coming back was _wrong_.

Every day for the past week, Sam had awakened in the same shithole motel just off of route 71 in Joplin, Missouri and looked out the window to the parking lot praying the Impala would be parked in front of the window—Dean asleep in the driver's side. This morning when Sam's alarm clock went off, he looked out see only puddles of mud scattered across the gravel drive, left over from the early morning thunderstorm.

Clenching his jaw he slammed his hand into the wall next to his seat creating a hollow echo throughout the room. _Damn it Dean._ This wasn't funny—not even a bit amusing, it was downright petrifying.

Sam stood. Looked around the room. It was surprising how clean everything seemed to stay when it was just him. Surprising how much he wanted to see the usual mess scattered across the floor and around the room.

* * *

IT HAD BEEN A TUESDAY when Dean had shut the door to the motel room behind himself, gotten into his Impala, and drove away. His entire body ached, head spun, he felt like shit, but he had to get away.

Just for awhile.

Sam had been hovering for the past two days. Jumping up to help every time Dean moved. Starring at him as if he were going to erupt with the whole story—spew up the information he wanted nothing more than to block out. He couldn't stand the '_let me do this'_, _'you shouldn't do that'_, and '_the doctor said'_… didn't want to see the way Sam tiptoed around him like a crystal vase teetering on the ledge of a second story window. It was all too surreal—too fucking awful to wrap his mind around.

He had to get out— just to escape that kind of daily torment, the bullshit of life after something seriously screwed up began to consume you from the inside out. But most of all he had to get out before he had a freaking breakdown in front of Sam. There was no way he was going to sit there and bawl his eyes out—share his feelings, like some Lifetime Movie of the Week.

No—if he was going to completely fall apart, he'd do it alone.

**

* * *

**

**ONE WEEK EARLIER**

HE'S BEEN SITTING IN THE HOTEL ROOM for nearly two hours before he hears the low rumble of the Impala in the parking lot. Hears the engine cutting followed by the driver's side door opening and then closing. Then he listens to the sound of a key wresting in the lock, a low curse word, which makes him laugh as he scribbles down a few notes and waits for Dean's familiar figure to appear.

"How was the library Sammy?" Dean's voice calls out as he shoves his way through the narrow door and walks into the dingy hotel room holding two cups of coffee and a yellow bag of M&M's.

Looking up from his notes Sam nods wearily, "Library like." He replies.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Just tell me you know where the gravesite is."

"Looks like the old man is buried on the family farm about 15 miles from here." Sam reports as he shuts down the power on his laptop, "You think it's time for a salt and burn?"

Shrugging Dean tosses the M&M's to the bed and smiles as he offers a Styrofoam cup to his brother. "Yeah, you could say that." Taking a drink of his coffee he sighs, "I'm gonna be glad to get out of here."

Sam nods. Truth is he's ready to leave too. Just like everything else in life there are just some things that just suck. And this was the perfect example of one of them. This hunt, which started off as a so called_ easy job_ turned into a nightmare week long cluster fuck. One week all for a simple ghost problem.

_Simple. _The word makes Sam laugh to himself as it crosses his mind.

It wouldn't have been so bad if half the damn city wasn't so determined to keep them from getting anything done. It had taken four days to even get viable information from anyone. Four days. There were the non compliant witnesses, the stonewall detectives, a pissy librarian, a few crazy people and one little old lady who knew too much and talked too little.

"Well Sammy," Dean says shoving the last of the rock salt into the barrel of his shotgun, "let's get this shit done."

Sam nods, _that sounds great_.

* * *

THE SALT AND BURN GOES pretty much the way the rest of the week has gone. Like crap. By the time they finally have the situation under control and the job done neither one of them comes out of it in the same condition they went in. Sam has a massive knot growing on the back of his head, feels some slight pain in his right shoulder, and seriously begins to question his line of work for about the four-thousandth time.

Dean on the other hand looks a little worse.

"He's dead this time right?" Dean asks as Sam leans over him, "_like really dead?_" Sam's sewing up a fairly deep gash on his side as Dean sucks down what little was left in the bottle of Jack he's found in the trunk. He watches Sam nod and grits his teeth as the makeshift needle pierces his skin.

"Sorry."

"No problem Sammy." Dean says flashing him a toothy smile. It's his best _this doesn't hurt a bit_ smile—which is a bunch of shit, but he's gotta save face around Sam—even if it stopped being convincing years ago. Dean grunts as Sam ties off the last stitch. "Why don't we get some dinner? I'm freaking starving." Pulling his shirt down Dean grimaces, "I saw a bar near the motel. Kinda swanky."

Sam looks up at him and laughs,_ "Swanky?"_

"Cool word huh?"

"Yeah. Cool." Sam looks at him quizzically and shakes his head, "Did ya just learn it?"

Dean lets out a snort from beside him. "Whatever bitch."

Sam smiles. "Jerk."

* * *

Give a little love- leave a review. More updates to come.


	2. Chapter 2

_I had to make some minor changes to this story... so I split it up a bit and if you've read this previously you'll notice the change in format._

_However the good news is- I'm at least working on the story again... _

_Hope you enjoy._

* * *

AS THEY MAKE THEIR WAY INSIDE the Voodoo Lounge and Bar Dean feels a smile creep across his face. The two things he loves to do most are within arm's reach of him tonight—miniskirts and a game of pool.

Within an hour Dean is well on his way to living the highlife. He wasn't quite sure what the hell the barmaid kept pouring in his glass, doesn't really care as long as it goes down cool and smooth, and stays on the house. For the most part he's forgotten about any pain he was in, can't even feel the stitches anymore. He's already managed to win a small bet of $100 playing a little eight ball with a group of God-awful college kids.

This is the way it should be, Dean thinks, except maybe it would be better if Sam would at least try to have some fun. Glancing over at his little brother Sam is tucked into a corner booth, starring at the screen of his computer—Dean sighs and throws back another shot.

"Hey Sammy get me a cheeseburger while I kick some ass." He says approaching the booth.

"Okay." Sam says, looks up then nods toward the group of bikers that have just challenged Dean to a bet of their own, "I don't think that's a very good idea."

"Relax Sammy. Jus' trying to have a little fun tonight." Dean smiles, "Besides I got this one in the bag."

As Dean returns to the game he watches as the smallest of the three bikers steps up cue stick in hand. Everyone calls him Piper, which makes Dean a bit curious, but he's not in the game for friendly chit chat and lets the question pass. The crack of the cue ball pulls Deans thoughts immediately back to the table as he studies Pipers movements. He smiles, shakes his head and offers up the thickest bunch of bull he can spew, "Shit man, I think you might just have me beat."

Between scanning on-line newspaper stories for their next gig Sam watches Dean hustle a group of college kids out of their daddy's hard earned money and laughs to himself. Dean hadn't even been trying, but put on a good show. College kids, especially the frat boys—because they thought they thought they were invincible the more they drank— were pretty easy targets when it came to hustling pool. Sometimes they got pissed, but for the most part they'd just let it go, bruised ego and all they knew they'd get more money in the next card from home. _Nothing to worry about._

But then because nothing in this town seems go the way Sam wants it to he watches as Dean takes yet another bet, only these guys look serious. And not serious in a diehard billiards playing fashion, but in more of a we'll kill you because we belong to a biker gang kind of fashion. When Dean appears by his side and asks him to order a bacon cheeseburger Sam puts forth a weak effort to get Dean to back out of the bet, but it's not like Dean to turn down a challenge.

"Relax Sammy. Jus' trying to have a little fun tonight." Dean smiles, "Besides I got this one in the bag."

"_Dean."_

"Oh come on man."

Sam huffs and shakes his head. "Whatever."

"I knew you'd see it my way Sammy." He says almost giddy with anticipation as he turns away.

As the game gets underway Sam finds himself pulled into the atmosphere around the green felt covered table. Several of the bars patrons are gathering around. Sam knows Deans loving the attention—loving the way a short blonde has taken it upon herself to become his personal sidekick.

The trio of black leather goons laughs as they watch Piper win the first game.

_Double or nothing._

Dean says it like he's begging for a shot to win his $200 back, like he's desperate now. Sam studies the look on the other men's faces. Knows they're gonna go for it—but Sam's about ninety-five percent sure that they aren't going to like the ending this time. He watches as the one they call Shorty steps up and racks the balls with a stupid smirk plastered on his face. "Your break." He says and Dean takes his place.

Sam stands watching, waiting, his arms folded over his chest as he looks around the table. He doesn't budge from his spot, even as the food he's ordered is delivered to the corner booth. Dean's pretty obviously in control at this point, _which is great,_ but something feels completely off. Once it becomes clear Dean's gonna win Sam watches as Shorty's pal Piper leans over and whispers something in another man's ear. Something that makes the other man stand, nod curtly, study Dean for a long minute and disappear out the door. Sam's starting to fidget as he waits for the man to return, but he never does, and Sam's gut is telling him they've pushed their luck just a bit too far.

The problem is that even if Dean had noticed the tension in the air he's not showing it. Instead he's smiling like an idiot when sinks the last shot of the $400 bet effortlessly and laughs, "I guess it wasn't your night boys," he says.

Five minutes later Sam is dragging Dean out of the bar the flesh on his brothers jaw line already starting to color. Shoving him into the passenger's seat he makes a promise to find food soon after they get back to the motel, anything to just get the hell out of the bar before anything else goes wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

PROMISES TO FIND Dean some sort of food has left Sam shaking his dimming flashlight under a dark moonless night sky. Squinting in the sheer darkness of the night, he kicks at the rear tire of the Impala and sighs heavily into the damp night air. A quick brush of his hand over his face and he thinks sarcastically, _this week just keeps getting better. _ Popping open the trunk he searches amidst the massive collection of weaponry for a tire iron and jack.

Then stops.

It's not going to do him any good without a spare tire—and he knows they don't have one of those—_not since a month ago._

Frustration over the week's events is mounting, he's borderline pissed, and all he wants is to punch something. _Deans gonna blow a gasket, _he thinks as he stares back at the flat tire. _Shit._ Slamming the trunk shut he bites at his bottom lip. The debate over telling Dean about the tire or just taking care of it is easily settled.

He leans up against the car, pulls out his cell and prays he'll be able to find a tire shop within walking distance. _Make that a 24hr tire shop,_ he corrects himself as the time flashes across the screen. As focused as he is at finding a tire shop he's brought back to his immediate surroundings when another car pulls up and parks some 20 feet away. Briefly he thinks it's odd considering no one else has parked on this side of the motel, _well aside from him, _of course. And obviously that had been a _great_ decision, but he has more important things to worry about and lets it go.

Several minutes pass and he thinks he's finally found a bit of good luck. Ronnie's 24 Tire & Towing is less than a mile away. He can make that trip no problem. _Dean's just going to have to wait for his damn pie._

Tucking his phone into his pocket, Sam sighs and looks down the road, _nothing like a midnight stroll, _he tells himself. Shoving his hands into his pockets he starts off on a new mission. Not ten steps from the Impala he can feel the hair on the back of neck beginning to creep upward, even as he tries to shake it, every instinct is telling him he's in serious trouble.

Picking up the pace he realizes the reason for his sudden alarm and watches as the dome light of the second parked car flashes on. One by one three men find their way out to the car. Sam can see their faces in the shadows cast by the dim light and that's when the pit of his stomach drops. These are the same assholes from the bar. The same assholes Dean decided to piss off in a big way hustling pool.

"You havin' some car trouble tonight?" The man called Shorty asks as his lips turn upward in a crooked smile.

He hears a throat clear behind him as a fourth man comes into his peripheral vision startling him. Before he's even able to reach for the .45 in his waist band he feels the crack of solid metal as it smashes hard into his ribcage.

"Looks like you gotta flat." The voice says as Sam falls to his knees. Without hesitation his attacker strips him of his .45 and over the course of several minutes, more blows from the iron rod and angry fists follow, smashing into his to his back, his ribs, and belly.

Sam struggles to fight back as much as his body allows, choking on the taste of blood running down his throat.

"Don't. Fucking. Move." One of the men orders as a heavy foot is rested on his neck, pinning him to the ground. It takes a brief struggle, but Sam manages to get his hands under the sole of the shoe, keeping it from crushing his larynx and cutting off his oxygen. The pounding in his head makes it nearly impossible for him to think straight, but as a second man stoops down and digs into his jean pockets; he realizes what they are looking for. His brother's name is off his lips almost instantly, but it doesn't sound above a whisper as he lies there covered in blood and dirt.

The keys to the motel room are clinking in front of him and he hears a voice say, "I'll tell your brother you say hi." Followed by a low laugh.

"Yeah, we'll tell 'em hi right after we have a little cha_t_." A second voice replies as the heavy steel-toe boot moves off his throat releasing him.

Frantically rolling over, Sam manages to push himself upward onto his right elbow before spitting up a mouthful of blood, "I'll kill you if you hurt him." he threatens.

This time when the steel-toe boot connects with his head Sam's world becomes an ocean of swirling black.

* * *

_Reviews reviews reviews... if you have one leave one... :) Please?_

_~L_


	4. Chapter 4

_So this is where the warnings I gave at the start come into play... you have been warned. _

_Also I should say this again... I do not own Supernatural... or anything related to Supernatural..._

* * *

DEAN STARES AT HIMSELF through the condensation built up on the small mirror that's hung over the bathroom sink. His jaw is swollen from the blow he'd taken earlier, there was some extra color present and it was tender to the touch, but he'd survive. Actually, he's feeling pretty good—the buzz he has going is just enough to mask the injuries he's accumulated during the day. He was just sorry he didn't get to eat the food he'd paid for before Sam drug him out of the bar.

_Oh well, _he smirks, _I've got the money and_ _we'll get the hell out of dodge in the morning- put this fucking town in their rear view mirror for good. _Taking in a deep breath he hears the door open and the television click on. _Pies here, _he thinks smiling. Slipping into his jeans and tee he runs a hand through his short blonde hair and sighs, _Sam better not have forgotten the pie. _

"Did you get that pie Sam?" His voice calls out as he steps out from the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

"Well don't you clean up nice?"A harsh voice growls from beside him. As Dean turns intent on slamming his fist into the intruders face he feels a hard thud connect with his shoulder. He grabs his shoulder momentarily before another strike connects with his knee and he lets out a hiss as he stumbles backward. "Think you can take our money that easily?" The voice belongs to a guy Dean immediately recognizes as Piper.

"Answer him. Do you think you can just take our money?" Another voice inquires, Dean doesn't recognize this guy though -doesn't know him, and he can't place him at the bar.

His eyes are darting around the room, scanning it, trying to find a way out. , "You've gotta be kidding." He sighs as he watches Piper move toward the door, and sees Shorty pacing back and forth in front of the window.

"He thinks we're kidding Kansas." Shorty says his eyes wild.

The man they call Kansas licks at his lips and smiles. He's a good 4 or 5 inches taller than Dean maybe 300 pounds, bald head—everything about him screams prison as he smiles down wickedly.

The next blow, delivered straight to his kidney, drives Dean straight to his knees, "Do I look like I'm telling you a fucking joke?" The yellowed whites of Kansas' eyes are burning threw him as he squats down making sure he's directly in Dean's line of sight.

There are several chuckles from the other men in the room as Dean feels a hand encircling his throat, pinning him to the wall as he's forced to his feet. "My friends here mistakenly gave you all of our good time money Princess." Dean's head is spinning as he slams his eyes shut, _Its not what you're thinking—just get the hell out of here_ he tells himself. Forcing himself to open his eyelids he catches the look in Kansas' eyes_—_and he knows he's screwed. "How do you think that makes me—"He pauses and looks around the room, "us" he corrects, "feel?"

"Like your friends suck at pool." Dean rasps struggling to pull the fingers that are cutting off his air away from his neck.

Almost immediately the hand around his windpipe loosens, "The Princess has a cute mouth, doesn't he boys?"

"I'll give you the money back." Dean replies choking on his words.

Kansas just smiles down at him. Instantly Dean is frozen as Kansas's thick fingers begin caressing his neck. "No…" the man replies as he flips open a switchblade. Reeling back into the wall the knife stabs deep into his side sending a shockwave of pain throughout Dean's body. "I think maybe you'll earn it tonight."

Dean barely has time to recover from the first blow when the blade plunges into his side a second and third time. A pathetic sounding scream is choked from Dean's lips as he stumbles forward only to be slammed back into the wall face first. Someone else is behind him now twisting his arms holding them in place as Dean cries out.

"Go ahead and scream again. _I dare you_." The voice sends a tremor down Dean's spine and again he starts to struggle in earnest as Kansas's hand leaves his neck and slides around to open his jeans, pulling them roughly down his thighs. His entire body throbs painfully as the larger man presses his weight into him and his jeans fall to the ground. "Nice Princess, real nice," his voice sings out, stroking a palm over Dean's bare flesh.

_WAKE UP_, his mind is screaming, _wake the fuck up and do something_. He can feel his stomach churning. _God damn it do something. Anything._ He manages to get an arm free and without thinking throws his elbow out connecting it squarely on Kansas's jaw. He instantly regrets it knowing that he's not getting anywhere with his pants around his feet and a swollen knee. _Shit… shit… SHIT! _Kansas's expression doesn't change, but for a brief second he rubs his jaw, then cracks his neck and then smiles. Another laugh and he feels his head slam into the wall.

Shorty chuckles from nearby.

"Stupid fuck," he says his face now close enough for Dean to feel the dampness of hot breath on his skin, "you can't get enough can you?"

It only takes a few seconds for his mind to clear and he can feel fingers sliding down over his hips, he flinches away. There is another chuckle for his trouble. Dean bites on his lip and grunts, feeling tears prick his eyes as he tries again to get away. He chokes out words that sound something like you're gonna die, but there's too much fear in his voice and there's only laughter that comes back at him.

The hot breath on his face hisses as his head slams into the wall a second time, "You ever been with a man Princess?"

Dean's mind is reeling, in his worst nightmares he has never conjured this scenario—_never in a million years had this ever crossed his mind._

* * *

_Again I would love reviews, if you have the time..._


	5. Chapter 5

_So I finally got around to updating this story- I mean holy cow its only been forever- grad school really sucked the life out of me for a while there! Hope you enjoy._

* * *

**NOW**

"OH SHIT." SHE MUMBLES throwing her head back in an exaggerated motion as they pull into the Brick Wall Motel. _Why tonight?_ She wonders, _I don't have a damn thing planned for any other night this week, but this—_tonight… _It was a legitimate date. _ An honest to god dinner and movie kind of date.

"You alright?" The voice next to her asks as soft brown eyes stare over at her puzzled.

"Yeah..." Exhaling in frustration she nods to the man seated next to her and chokes down the urge to scream.

_God_, she thinks to herself, _he's freaking gorgeous; perfect eyes, perfect lips, brown hair, and a body like a rock. _

But now?

_Well_… she's gonna have to pass it all up. Granted it wasn't like she had found the love of her life or anything—but _damn_ she was looking forward to the sex.

She exhales loudly, "It's just that…" she pauses, licks absently at her lips and swallows hard, "I think I'm gonna have to take a rain check on the rest of our night Marc."

"What's going on?"

"That car…" She points to the black Chevy Impala sitting idly in front of the motel and hesitates, "it belongs to some family friends. And if they're here, something's wrong."

"I can meet up with you later…" Marc offers as his truck comes to a complete stop, "If you want."

A smile creeps across her face at his offer, "I'd love to." She says, "I would…"

"_But?"_ his eyebrows rise, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"But I can't." Pushing the door open she slips out of the passenger seat and sighs as her feet hit the ground, "I'm so sorry."

Marc just nods, throws the truck into reverse and smiles, "Maybe next time." He says.

But she knows—_there isn't going to be a next time_.

She watches as Marc pulls out of the parking lot and stands on the gravel until his tail lights fade in the dark before turning on her heels. There's only one thing on her mind now, _I'm gonna kill the Winchester Boys for this._

* * *

STALKING OFF TOWARD her motel room she stops short as she takes note of the lone figure slumped against the door. Something about his posture or maybe it's his overall demeanor, tells her something isn't right, and in seconds the frustration melts away into concern.

She finds herself taking in a deep breath squatting down in his direct line of sight. "Dean?" her voice is low, cautious. When he doesn't respond she reaches out to shake him, "Earth to Dean."

Dean, who uncharacteristically startles, strikes out grabbing her arm so hard she nearly falls straight into him.

"Jesus Dean!" She cries out her heart nearly jumping out of her chest. Quickly she reaches out to break the fall and pushes herself back into a steady upright position.

"Shit." he says breathlessly. His face is damp with a combination of perspiration and tears offers up an apology, "I'm sorry Jo."

"What the hell is going on Dean?"

"I just… I was in the area." His sudden causal tone is cancelled out by the fact he still has a firm grip around her arm.

"Okay," Jo says as she cautiously pulls her arm from his grip. Clearing her throat she nods, smiles half heartedly, knowing full well something is completely off and adds, "So you just dropped by then?" She watches Dean run a hand over his face and notes the distant look in his eyes.

"Did my mom tell you where I was? Cause you really need to stop sneaking around with my mother behind my back." She says it trying her best to lighten the mood, but he doesn't respond, doesn't even crack one of his famous wise ass comments. He just stares straight ahead—_a million miles away._

Taking in a deep breath she looks around again noting the absence of one person in particular and turns back to Dean, "Hey Dean, where's Sam?" she asks trying to get a view of inside the Impala from where she's at. _Maybe he's asleep in the back,_ she tells herself, or _maybe he's checking in to the motel. _Dean's still a million miles away, and she asks again, "Where's Sam?" Again he doesn't respond. Instead Dean closes his eyes and leans back against the door like he's been defeated.

She's actually terrified to hear his answer now, but she still has to ask, "_Is Sam with you?"_

Finally Dean comes back from— _who the hell knows where—_ and nods, "No."

Shit_._ _"Is he alright?"_ she inquires, her mouth suddenly dry, "Is he hurt?"

He looks up at her his expression twisted in a combination of confusion and guilt, "Sam's fine."

"Jesus Christ, Dean!" She can hear the air rush out of her lungs, finds herself surprised to know she'd been holding her breath waiting for his answer. _Fucking asshole, _she scrubs a hand over her face feeling a headache coming on as she stands.

She knows she should be thanking God right about now but she realizes; _she's not._

_Of course_, she's grateful to know Sam is alive and well_, but that means something is wrong with Dean_, and somehow that feels worse.

* * *

If you get a chance leave a review. ~L


	6. Chapter 6

**Another update and another warning; this chapter contains explicit sexual content… the next few updates will be graphic—so if you don't like it don't read it. I'm just saying—it's not everyone's cup of tea.**

**For those of you that decide to read on; I hope you enjoy. **

* * *

**ONE WEEK EARLIER**

**Joplin, MO**

Sam comes to with a sudden painful jolt. His eyes are heavy, throat dry and he feels scattered and disoriented. Reaching up to rub his eyes and quell the tremors in his head, he gasps at an intense pain radiating up from his side. He drags a dry tongue over his lips and mumbles a clear, "Oh shit," under his breath. He groans as he struggles to shift into a new position and thinks to himself, _breathing is more difficult than it should be—_and gasps for air before rolling back onto his stomach.

"Hey you with me?" A voice above Sam lulls him back as he struggles to clear his mind, open his eyes. "Stay still. Don't move okay."

Slowly he begins to piece together his surroundings. _Outside. Parking lot. Motel._

"What's your name?" He looks up trying to identify the source of the voice; blinks a few times to make sure he isn't seeing things, and lets out a muffled whimper as a woman's hand grazes his side. "You gotta name?" She repeats brushing the hair out of his face.

He starts to answer her but instead chokes a little.

"Take it easy alright."

He nods, groans and grounds out his name between clenched teeth, "Sam."

"Okay Sam." The woman smiles as she looks down at him, "My husband is calling 911. The cops and paramedics are on their way…"

He half expects Dean to pipe up by now, _explain what the hell happened_— _tell him what a little bitch he is for passing out cold_, but he doesn't.

Then like a sack of fucking bricks to the gut he remembers_ –he remembers why he's on the ground , he remembers the motel keys being pulled from his pocket—_

"My brother—" he chokes again, this time on the pain stabbing at his side and the increase of throbbing notes pulsing in his head.

"I didn't see anyone else, was he here?" the woman asks.

Sam winces and nods, "No." he says, "Room 126."

"Okay—I'll let 'em know." She says quietly, "Just stay with me alright—keep your eyes open."

* * *

Dean's whole body is coiled tight with anger and fear and he knows it's going to make it worse than it could be but he can't let it go, he can't give up without a fight.

It takes all of a few seconds and he goes from being buried in the wall to face down on the floor. For a brief moment he manages to struggle free, but ends up chocking back the pain he feels at his shoulder separating from the socket and is forced back to the ground.

Dean can feel his head spinning, knows he's losing a lot of blood, and god, _he's gonna die on the floor of some shithole motel room._

Both Shorty and Piper have a knee firmly planted in his back, taunting him with each desperate breath.

"Just relax… "

"…Enjoy it."

Dean feels hands—_Kansas' hands—_caressing his legs. He's shaking now, violently shivering—praying to God—_praying to anyone_ _who will listen_ to make this stop here and now.

Instead of salvation, Dean feels hot breath drag across his neck, "Want to see this bitch squirm?"

The second it happens, he can hear his voice screaming, his feet are kicking, and even though his shoulder is screaming at him to stop, he's struggling against the men with everything he has trying to himself from their hold_, it's_ _too little too late, _and the thick fingers hold him tight—working him, stretching him from the inside.

Then seconds later and somewhat unexpectedly the knees pinning him to the ground release him, allowing Dean the chance to suck in a ragged breath, giving him a half second to regain some hope.

He's feeling light headed, his shoulder is killing him, knows without a doubt he's fighting a losing battle, but—

"_NO! PLEASE— DON"T!"_ The words are off his lips before he even realizes it, and he can't believe he's even said them—_because Dean Winchester never has begged for a damn thing- ever. _ Ever.

He feels his hips jerk upward, feels the thrust that pushes his attackers cock hard inside him and for the next few minutes his entire existence is centered on shattering, all-consuming pain.

He's choking, trying to breathe, trying to re-gain his composure, when an arm wraps its self around his neck, pulling back and forcing Dean onto his knees, gagging him in the process. The sudden movement sends a secondary wave of pain rushing threw his body—he can feel the blood running down his chest now, _he can feel the blood running down his legs_.

The voice is back, but Dean can't make out the words. His ears are ringing and taste of thick saliva is building in the back of his throat, and _God he's gonna be sick_.

Kansas lets out a low moan followed by an acidic black laugh that comes from the back of his throat and says, "Touch yourself pretty boy I know you like it."

Dean makes a noise that sounds like a whimper and shakes his head—_he fucking hates himself right now but he's not going to give in—not completely_—and he ignores the comment. Across the room Dean catches a glimpse of Piper, who has moved back to stand guard at the door, eyes wild and laughing. Instantly he slams his eye shut; Dean doesn't want the rest of the men in the room to see the fear in his eyes, more over he doesn't want to see the pleasure in theirs.

"I told you to touch your dick." The voice in his ear hisses, grabbing hold of Dean's arm Kansas shoves his hand downward.

The second that he realizes his own body has betrayed him; Dean's stomach begins turning so violently that he can't keep the bile from rising in his throat, from retching out of him, as Kansas finishes.

"Cute Princess," the voice behind him growls out, releasing him from the hold and shoving him forward, "Real fucking cute."

* * *

**Should you feel like leaving a review (good or bad)- I'd love it! ~L**


	7. Chapter 7

_So I've been driving myself crazy over this chapter- re-written it too many times to count so I finally just decided heck with this and now I'm posting it. UGHHH. So here I am saying this is not my best work- but hope you enjoy it._

_And of course- a huge thank you to those of you who have reviewed so far! I really appreciate it. :)_

* * *

STARING UP AT THE CEILING Sam reaches up with his hand and unsuccessfully tries to quell the intensity of a pounding head ache and the accompanying nausea. From the point in time he's gotten to Freeman Hospital until now he's been shoved in and out of three different areas, been told to "stay the fuck down" twice, and has been completely ignored when it comes to any questions about his brother.

Now almost forty minutes later, three broken ribs and a 'serious' concussion have landed Sam a semi private room on the second floor. While he's not exactly thrilled about waiting for Dean in a hospital bed he's not in the best position to argue either. At the moment it seems that any movement he makes; any amount of light that's just a fraction to bright; any noise that's just a bit too loud sends a series of piercing tremors through his body. But it's the secondary medical issue, _the fucking joys of vertigo_, that has Sam agreeing with a nurse to _'stay horizontal'_ in the bed until his brother is out of the O.R.

So he lays there and he waits…

He thinks back to all the times he's had to do this very same thing—_all the times he's waited for news on his dad, news on Dean_—how many times he has been forced to sit in a waiting room, lie in a hospital bed and wonder.

There's too many times too count and if he were honest about it, he doesn't like to relive those moments in his life, but the truth is Sam will be waiting outside the doors of an emergency or operating room for the rest of his life—_or the rest of Dean's _whichever comes first.

The thought is a bitter pill to swallow.

* * *

IT'S WELL PAST ONE in the morning when Sam receives word that Dean is out of surgery and makes the move to sign himself out of the hospital 'AMA', but before he is even able to get out of his room he is greeted by a surgeon and a detective at his door.

What they tell him nearly drops Sam to his knees. He struggles to give the detective information that he needs, fights to listen to the gory details of Dean's injuries, and chokes back tears that sting the corners of his eyes.

Fifteen minutes later he half walks/half stumbles toward room 471. As much as he'd like to believe the contrary, he's still not as steady on his feet as he should be—and the broken ribs are still sending sharp pains through the entire length of his body. Even though he fucking hurts, the second he crosses the threshold of the room all of his focus shifts directly to his brother.

* * *

IT'S THE SLIGHT RUSTLING of the bed sheets under his head that forces Sam from his dazed state next to Dean's bed side. Short of jolting upward Sam sits straight up, grimaces at the pain radiating down his side and rubs a hand over his face, wiping the sleep from the corners of his eyes.

One sweeping glance over his brother and Sam knows that Dean isn't entirely in the present yet, so he sits back and waits silently as Dean drifts in and out.

Sam rubs at the knot in his neck and sighs, _come on Dean—just wake up._

It takes another few minutes before Dean finally seems to sort out his surroundings, and then suddenly Dean's eyes focus in on him. Sam watches as a series of emotions run across Dean's face. Fear. Bewilderment. Fear—then pain. "It's alright Dean," he says, "You're in the hospital, _you're safe_."

Dean closes his eyes then groans.

"You with me man?" Sam asks.

Dean stares at him for a minute longer, tries to shift positions and groans again, falling back. There is no real panic in the sound, just exhaustion and confusion. Sam sighs, he knows Dean still isn't completely out of the drug induced state, so he doesn't seem to realize yet—or doesn't remember how he ended up at the hospital. Sam can feel the tightness in his throat as he looks down at his older brother, _it wouldn't be a bad thing, _he thinks to himself, _if Dean never remembers how he ended up here. It wouldn't be a bad thing if they both could forget._

"Dean it's me, Sam." He says. "You're gonna be okay, they're taking good care of you here." Nothing seems to be getting through to Dean as he closes his eyes again. Taking in a deep breath Sam, stands, and stretches out. He scans the machines to his left, checks the pulse ox, heart rate, and blood pressure—_all seemingly steady. _"Not bad at all." He says looking over at his brother. _Not that Dean gives a damn at the moment, _Sam realizes, but talking takes the edge off of waiting—_and he's gonna talk_. Sitting back down Sam reaches over, resting his arm protectively over his brother's hand. Sam is still talking, rambling on about Dean's vitals, when suddenly Dean gasps and stares over at him as if he's just seen the ghost of their dead father.

"Hey Dean," Sam says as casually as he can muster, tries his best to force a smile and nods; "It's me. You're uh—you're at the hospital."

Dean swallows hard, opens his mouth to say something, then chokes.

His eyes are bright, wide with fear and hesitation. Dean probably doesn't even notice it, but he's crying, and Sam feels his heart sink. Instinctively he grips his brothers hand, squeezes it trying to offer a semblance of support. Dean pulls his hand away from Sam's grasp and turns his head away at the same time, mumbling something about not wanting to be touched and Sam adheres to the request because it's clear to him, _Dean remembers_.

Hunching over in his chair Sam swallows down his own urge to cry- _because he feels like he's falling apart too—_but instead he tries to re-focus the attention elsewhere, and clears his throat, "How's the pain?" he asks.

* * *

_See.. not the best update I know- but if you feel like reviewing it I'd be glad to hear from you! ~L_


	8. Chapter 8

So sorry for the very extended break in updating. I moved, started a new job, didn't have internet for about a month- and just plain didn't work on this story like I had intended. So my many apologies are due for just plain taking forever and not getting work done! Hope everyone is enjoying the season change- I love the Fall!

As always- enjoy, and please leave a review if you have a chance. ~L

* * *

IN THE DAY THAT FOLLOWS HIS SLEEP IS PLAGUED WITH FREQUENT NIGHTMARES.

Memories of the night capture his dreams; there are warped versions of the memories where hunters he knows are attacking him in place of those who had. Versions of Sam showing up in the middle of the attack… the most fucked up dreams he's ever had—and he can't seem to stop them or control them.

* * *

_In this nightmare he's sprawled out face down on the floor, the feel and smell of vomit beneath his cheek, the sudden sensation of cool air surrounding his skin sends a shiver down his back. He feels the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed to his temple and hears a deep voice caressing the side of his neck, "Get the fuck up." It demands. _

_Dean half chokes, half sobs at the request. _

_He makes an honest attempt to push himself upward, but his arm gives way underneath him, and he falls flatly back to the ground._

_Kansas laughs from somewhere in the background. "I think he's asking for more." _

_Hot breath drags across his neck, "Oh don't worry," the voice says, "I ain't done with you yet boy." _

* * *

DEAN WAKES UP, SWEATING, SHAKING AND GASPING FOR BREATH. Before he even has time to process his surroundings he feels a hand come in contact with his arm and he panics, fear and pain shoot through his body instantly. The sting of acid in the back of his throat makes him gag, but he forces himself to swallow it back down and lets out something that sounds like a whimper.

"_Please… don't." _He whispers, pulling away from the unwanted touch.

"Dean," the voice above him is low, careful, "It's just me."

Sam. _Sam?_ His breath comes out in one scared rush, and he finds himself starring up into Sam's sad, tired eyes.

"Let me fix this," Sam sighs, reaches out to touch him again, but stops short. "Okay?"

_Okay_. Dean nods blinks again, just to make sure it's _really_ Sam in front of him, and follows Sam's every movement as he unwinds the plastic tubing from around his arm. As soon as he's done, Sam backs away shoving his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor. _He should probably say something_, Dean thinks, but nothing comes to mind, nothing that will make either of them feel any better. So instead Dean looks away, tries his hardest to keep his breathing steady—_tries to keep his hands from shaking. _It's something he would never admit to Sam, but the nightmares seem to hold onto him even during the waking hours—keeping him in a kind of limbo between real and imagined. Moment to moment he's never really entirely sure where he is or what's happening—he's in a constant state of hyper vigilance—always _expecting, fearing_ the worst.

When he looks back up, Sam is staring at him again with that extra solicitous concern he can't help but show every time someone—especially Dean— gets hurt. It's something Sam always does,but right now it makes Dean feel like Sam can see right through him, _like he knows every god-damn thing there was to know_ _about what had happened_— _and God Sam really doesn't need to know those things_.

Looking down he studies the blue sling that covers his left arm, and then studies the IV lines and ID bands that encompass his right wrist. At least here in the hospital he was safe—_or as safe as he could be_, and for a few more days he'd put up with the constant touching, talking, and concerned stares from strangers just so Sam wouldn't have to be the one taking care of him. His injuries, the one's that cover his body are way too personal and he really doesn't want Sam knowing the full extent of them.

"The um," Sam's voice breaks into his thoughts as takes a seat at the foot of Deans bed, grimacing as he clears his throat. Dean watches the way Sam sits—the way he acts like the slight jarring of sitting down is causing him pain. For the first time Dean seems to realize that Sam's movements are _too_ lethargic, _too careful_. He wonders why he hadn't noticed Sam's injuries earlier in the day, _wonders what Sam is hiding from him_. "The detective stopped by when you were sleeping." Sam continues, "He wanted to ask you a few questions— you've been pretty out of it. Anyway I tried to ah—to answer their questions, but they want to talk to you."

"Just keep 'em away from me, alright?" Dean says still focusing on the way Sam's breathing is shallow, soft.

"Okay."

"Sammy?" Dean fidgets with the edge of the bed sheet, draws in a shaky breath and bites at his bottom lip, he's not entirely sure he wants to hear the answer, but it's a question he's got to ask, just to be sure, "What did they do to you?"

Sam looks down at him, his eyes narrowing in thought before he answers, "They kicked my ass a little." Shaking his head he smiles softly and sighs, "It's been awhile since a tire iron has been swung directly at me. Guess my reflexes are slow."

Dean's eyes lock onto Sam as he continues to stare upward. A silent, _don't lie to me,_ being communicated. Sam nods understanding the warning.

"Listen Dean," Sam clears his throat, "It's getting late. I need to find a place to stay tonight, and you could really use some rest without me hanging around. So I'm gonna take off and I'll see you in the morning okay?" Sam's voice is grainy, _tired_ and Dean can tell by the look on Sam's face he's more than a little exhausted—he looks beat both physically and emotionally. Shaking his head, Dean watches as Sam gets up from the end of the bed, his hand cradling his ribs, and moves across the room.

"Hey Sammy?" Dean's voice is thick with concern this time around.

Sam turns back to him leaning gingerly into the door frame, "Yeah?"

"You're really okay?"

Sam lets out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, shaking his head as he smiles, "Yeah, Dean." he says, "I'm good." Sam stares back at him for a moment from the doorway. It's a long drawn out moment that finally ends with Sam drawing in a deep breath, "Don't worry about me."

"Okay." Dean says his voice a quiet attempt at dismissal of concern and watches Sam turn and walk away down the hall.


	9. Chapter 9

Well I found a bit more time to update- this story should be wrapped up pretty quickly from here on out- one long or two small chapters should do the trick. Hope you enjoy.

**NOW**

AS JO PUSHES OPEN THE DOOR TO HER MOTEL ROOM she watches Dean struggle to his feet—he seems completely unsteady, but he refuses to accept her help and leans heavily into the brick wall beside her. She studies his strong jaw line black and green from an old bruise forming on the right side, the line of stitches above his eyebrow, the stubble on his face. Even with the discoloring and out of place stitches it was still Dean. But then there were his eyes. _Flat, green and empty._ There was simply nothing behind them.

As he leans against the wall Jo scans over him quickly, pausing when she realizes that there is a darkening area spreading across the bottom of his shirt. It was beyond probable that Dean was hurting way more than he was letting on. Hiding injuries under the layers of clothing he was wearing.

"Are you bleeding?" She asks.

Dean looks down at his shirt, looks back up at her and nods, "It's fine." He asserts.

"You don't look real great right now Dean." She says her concern genuine, "I can stitch you up if you need me to." She offers, hoping he will take her up on the offer—because she's not sure he's in the right mind to sew himself up tonight.

Dean's head snaps up at her offer, his eyes wide, "Naw, it's fine Jo." He repeats quickly brushing her off as hastily as he can, "Really."

Jo sighs, hesitates for a long moment at the door and shakes her head thinking to herself, _something here is completely off_. Stepping in the doorway she watches him carefully, thinks about all times she'd imagined in the past the day Dean Winchester would show up at her door. In most of those daydreams he shows up and sweeps her off her feet—carrying her off in the sunset, he's the white knight on a horse kind of fantasy. In other dreams he shows up like a page out of a horror novel—there to tell her that something has happened to her mother or someone at the Roadhouse. In that capacity Dean Winchester is her worst nightmare. But tonight—God knows what role he was taking—_fantasy or nightmare_—she was leaning more toward nightmare.

DEAN SLAMS THE DOOR TO THE BATHROOM SHUT, pulling off the three layers of clothing that he has covering his upper body. His hands are shaking more with each layer that comes off.

Taking a few deep breaths he struggles to quiet the pounding in his head, to block the memories from earlier in the night—to stop the memories of the previous week from rushing back. His stomach lurches at the few memories that make their way through the wall he's tried to put up, and before he even has a chance to stop it he chokes up a mouthful of bile and falls to his knees.

Tears fill his eyes, and he hastily brushes them away. _What the hell was he doing? What the hell was he supposed to do now? _His life was quickly spiraling out of control. It was moments like these—moments where things were so fucked all to hell— that he really, _really_ wished his dad was around just to tell him what to do. _He really wished he had Sam's fucking annoying company to help him sort out the last few days. _

His hands begin to tremble again, this time relentlessly; he groans and leans over the toilet choking up another mouthful of acid. Wiping the final string of vomit from his lips, he sat back allowing himself the opportunity to fall over to his side and slide down the wall. To his relief the feeling of the cool damp tile on the bathroom floor began to sooth his head, calm his stomach.

It takes a few moments to regain his composure, but Dean manages to push himself back up into a sitting position, and ready himself to pull of the last layer of clothing. The blood had begun to harden, adhering his shirt to bare skin as he waited for those two hours outside for Jo to make it back to her motel room. Now that its glued together the slight tug needed to pull it off was enough to make his head spin again.

Underneath the final layer of cloth, Dean stares at the old bruises and stitches that fade into the newer, darker splotches that cover his body. Using the wall as his support he stumbles toward the shower and turns the hot water on and exhales sharply as he steps in.

As the hot water hits his bruised and battered body it elicits a groan from the back of his throat. The events of the past few days haven't exactly gone as expected, _but even if it didn't end the way it was supposed to—at least he knew it was finally over. _It's that thought that finally sends him over the edge—and for the first time in nearly a week Dean lets himself feel the complete gravity of the situation he's been in and breaks down completely.

FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BATHROOM DOOR Jo Harvelle listens to a series of sounds that send wave after wave of concern down her spine. Something about the entire situation is screaming at her, creating warning bells that aren't going to be silenced anytime soon.

Pulling the cell phone from her purse, Jo hears the sound of Dean vomiting and feels her chest tightening. She can't believe the screwed up mess that Dean has landed on her doorstep with, _actually, she_ _can't believe that Dean is the actual screwed up mess._

Scrolling through her contact list she presses the send button and sits down on the corner of her bed. Exhaling she closes her eyes and prays silently, _please—please just pick up._

"Hello?"

An exasperated breath rushes from her chest, "Thank God Sam," she says hurriedly, "please tell me you're okay."

_So the next update (or two) will focus on what Dean got himself into after he dissapeared on Sam- and it will of course reunite the boys- because well... _Sam is pissed. _Gotta have a chance to work that out. Hope you all have enjoyed the ride so far. Thanks for all the reviews and feedback- its been great!_

_And as always any feedback you have at this point I would love to hear- just leave me a comment! ~L_


	10. Chapter 10

JO TAKES A SEAT IN THE OLD GREEN CANVAS CHAIR located next to the motel room door and blows out a slow even breath, sinking into and letting the faded chair swallow her up as she stares across the room. From all indications Dean is wrapped up in one hell of a nightmare. She knows nightmares come with the job, and she's had her share—_hunting isn't exactly the cheeriest of occupations—_but there's never been anything like this.

Looking over at the digital clock on her bedside table she notes the time,_ 12:32._ The best she can figure Sam was still about 4 hours away _at the very best._ From what she had managed to get from Dean between his hour long shower and the almost instant collapse on the bed it was obvious something had happened, but Dean wouldn't tell her about any specifics, and she didn't want to push him—_he already looks and acts like he's at the end of his rope._

With that sobering thought in mind, Jo stands, walking across the room intent on turning off the light above Dean's bed. If it was going to be a few hours before Sam made his appearance she could use some sleep herself. _God knows what trouble was brewing or how the younger Winchester would act once he arrived._ Leaning over Dean's bed, she hits the switch darkening his side of the room and hears Dean gasp, sees him stir and holds her breath hoping he won't wake up. For a solid minute she waits without moving, watches the troubled expressions that cross his face, feels herself exhale as he rolls over—clearly still sleeping and finally backs away.

"Whatever happened to you Dean," she says quietly, "I'm sorry." Shuffling across the tiny space between the two beds Jo sits down and leans back into the mattress. From where her day had started, she sure as hell hadn't expected it to end like this. A sad frown creases between her brows as she adjusts her pillow. Reaching up to turn off the light above her bed she sighs, all things considered—at least both Winchester boys are alive—and that counts for _something_.

* * *

IT TAKES NEARLY SIX AND A HALF HOURS for Sam to make his way from Joplin, Missouri to Kearney, Nebraska where Dean has apparently met up with and camped out with Jo Harvelle for the night. How Dean ever made it to Kearney in the first place is something Sam is going to take up with his brother the second he has a chance— _because Sam's dying to know what the hell Dean's been up to for the past few days—_and he hopes Dean has one hell of a story that makes it all worth it… because if he doesn't… _well—he just better_.

Sam pulls his phone out of his pocket, thinking briefly that he should call Jo, give her a heads up that he's about to knock on her door, then just as quickly tucks the phone back away. If Dean thinks he can just up and run away—Sam's going to make he's able to share his feelings in a way that he's sure Dean can understand, _with the added advantage of surprise_.

Raising his hand to the door, Sam raps lightly and waits. Inside he can hear muffled voices followed by the sound of the lock turning in the door.

"Sam." Dean says opening the door somewhat lethargically. Almost immediately Dean hits the floor as Sam slams a solid fist into his face.

"Hope you had a great time without me Dean." Sam seethes, staring down at his brother. The look on Dean's face said it all, Dean's way worse off than Sam had imagined, but Sam pretends not to notice because he's _too god-damned pissed to care. _He's too pissed to care how hurt or scared or fucked up Dean is right now. "How the fuck am I supposed to know if you're even alive when you pull this shit? I mean seriously where the hell have you been?"

Dean lies on the ground for a few minutes seemingly trying to recollect his thoughts. As he pushes himself upward a hand pressed firmly against his jaw line where Sam's punch had connected, "Sam…" Dean begins clearing his throat, "Listen man, I'm sorry al—"

"Shut up Dean." Sam is vaguely aware that Jo was watching him from the corner of the room, but at the moment he really doesn't care. His thoughts were solely focused on the memories of a week from hell—memories he'd just assume forget. "I don't even know if I can completely explain to you what the past few days were like—but it sure as hell wasn't fun."

"Sam…" Jo's voice cuts in as she helps pull Dean to his feet. She looks upset as Sam stares back at her, "Please stop." Her voice is barely above a whisper.

"It's alright Jo, I deserve it." Dean nods, stepping away from her, his eyes lowering to the floor as his shoulders drop, "_I'm sorry Sammy_."

_God, he hates it when Dean pulls the Sammy card out of nowhere,_ he hates it because when it's said with so much raw emotion behind it he crumbles, and Dean knows it.

Sam exhales and wipes a weary hand over his face and looks down at Dean—his eyes conveying a thousand emotions. Anger. Guilt. Sorrow.

"Jesus Sam," Dean mumbles, "You don't have to look at me like that man. I'm sorry okay."

"What were you thinking?"

Dean shakes his head, "I just needed some time Sam. I needed to think alright."

"So'd you get it?" Sam asked sounding snarkier then he'd intended, "Did you have enough time?"

* * *

DEAN STARES BACK AT SAM KNOWING FULL WELL that Sam's going to perform a grand inquisition here and now despite what Dean wants or needs. It's always been Sam's first line of attack—kick 'em when they're down—pull out the emotional bullshit.

He seriously doesn't want to rehash the past 72 hours—doesn't want to tell Sam a damn thing—especially with Jo sitting in the room—but he knows his brother and he knows Sam isn't going to give up.

"So?" Sam's voice cuts into Dean's thoughts, "How the hell did you end up here?"

Dean groans and shakes his head cutting off his brother before he gets too far, "God Sam." His voice is shaking— _almost as much as his hands_, "Can we _not _do this right now?" he asks looking over at Jo who is staring at the two of them from the corner of the room.

"Dean—"

"I don't want to talk." Dean replies, "About any of this." _Ever._

"You owe me an explanation." Sam says, "You owe me the truth."

* * *

_Almost there! Should have the last update posted by next weekend. Thanks to everyone for their reviews and taking the time to read so far! All your questions should be answered soon! ~L_


	11. Chapter 11

_Holy cow- its been a year since I've posted an update- I suppose having children, and finally landing the job I've been after forever had something to do with it, but seriously I don't know where the time has gone! SORRY :/ _

_Good new, I finished up this chapter the last chapter will be done soon! And the story will be completely wrapped up. Hope you all enjoy, and as always leave a comment if you have the time :) ~L_

* * *

**CHAPTER 11**

Dean draws in a shaky breath, "I don't even know what to say." Scrubbing a hand over his face he needs more time to get his thoughts and emotions in order. He holds his breath for what feels like an eternity, then looks up at Sam, and exhales, "It was stupid, really, I just needed out for a while..."

As much as Sam wasn't likely to accept that as the official reason Dean walked out on Tuesday night it was the legitimate truth. He hadn't thought about it, hadn't considered what the consequences would be, he just knew he had to get out—just for awhile. Sam had been hovering, tip toeing around, _pretending_—and as much as Dean wanted to go on pretending with him, Sam's eyes never lied. The truth was always right there, written clear as day on Sam's face—_he knew every damn detail._

For two days Dean fought down the urge to scream, the urge to take everything that had happened— _was happening_—out on his brother. Then it happened, Sam finally pushed the balances, stacked the cards with too many questions and forced Dean to make the decision to get the hell out while he still had a shred of dignity. He'd waited until Sam had gone out to grab some coffee before grabbing the keys to the Impala—_probably the dumbest thing he'd done in quite some time_ – and taking off_._

"I thought I'd just drive, clear my head, and try to forget what had happened..." Dean sighs and shakes his head trying to push back the ever invasive memories. The memories are relentless though, absolutely capable of sucking him back into the nightmare without warning and he loses the fight to keep his emotions steady. He's terrified, ashamed, angry. "I'm sorry Sam." His voice falters as he stares down at the floor—his entire body is shaking. _God, he's sorry for everything._

* * *

From her spot in the corner of the room Jo watches the interaction between the brothers. Part of her wants to leave the room— _get out before the real storm hits_— but curiosity and just plain confusion over the events of the last 24 hours have kept her feet firmly planted in place.

She watches Dean who is visible shaken, walk to the farthest side of the room, and take a seat on the foot of the bed. Sam follows closely behind, still reeling with anger, his features softening as he watches the way Dean folds in on himself. The intensity of emotion between the two of them is unnerving and yet intimately revealing at the same time. It is pretty damn clear that something has gone completely wrong, because she has never seen Dean Winchester so broken down; she has never him cry, at least not before this weekend.

As she's watching the entire scene unfold before her she catches it, _its quick and fleeting_, it's the look on Dean's face. His eyes catch hers for a brief second, communicating with her, pleading with her to leave. Despite the fact that she wants to know—wants to help, she nods quietly stepping toward the door, understanding without hesitation that there are something's in the Winchesters lives are best left to just them.

* * *

"I…" Dean stammers as he looks up at Sam his eyes, glistening with tears, "I just got in the Impala and drove, I don't know for how long. I just drove. Next thing I know I'm stopped at a gas station north of Kansas City. I, uh… I was starving… I needed gas. At that point I had every intention of turning around." Dean clears his throat. Every part his being is begging him not to continue with the story, his body physically hurts, his head is pounding. "I—I was finishing up with the gas when I heard this voice… it just… I… I just froze."

Despite his best efforts to keep himself in check, the memory washes over him like a tidal wave smashing into the land during a tsunami- Dean's heart is racing as the voice reverberates in his mind, saliva building up in the back of his throat again. He wraps his arms around his head. Rocking himself back and forth, he forces himself to breath—slow and deep and steady. "I _want_ to forget this shit Sam."

* * *

It's that simple request, one that Sam knows he can't grant, that instantly ends the anger and frustration he's felt toward Dean over the past few days. This was Dean, completely and absolutely stripped down. Hollowed out and aching.

As much as he might want to, Sam says nothing as he watches Dean rocking back and forth, letting Dean break down without any judgment or hesitation. Instead he carefully lowers himself to the edge of the bed, sitting next to Dean as an act of support. A silent statement conveying the words_, 'I'm here for you.'_ As Dean's body continues to jerk with each unsuccessful attempt to keep his emotions at bay, Sam begins to feel physically sick, hurting from the inside out for his brother.

"Dean…" Sam's voice is so soft it's barely audible as Dean repeats himself again.

"I just want to forget, Sam." But this time Dean continues, and Sam steadies himself to listen.

* * *

Dean won't tell Sam everything that happened in the moments that follow Kansas reappearing next to him, but it still plays out in his mind like a recording on an endless loop, playing over and over without fail.

He could have kicked himself for stopping at the darkest truck stop in the city—he had more common sense than that, or at least he had at one point.

_Run down and shady as it was, he hadn't cared that night, just wanted to get in and out without being noticed, without anyone taking one look at him and wondering what had happened. So when saw the dingy little stop he pulled in, bought a bottle of water, a bag of chips and set his sights on filling up the gas tank as quickly as he could. _

_"Hey bitch." The voice came from behind him, slow and quiet, and deafening all at the same time. "You miss me?"_ _There was one hand around his throat, one hand sliding down his jeans, Kansas' hot breath on his face as Dean fell back into the side of the Impala. A cruel laugh taunted the sudden pounding in his chest. A familiar feeling of burning consumed Dean as Kansas' hands continued to work their way along his body. "How about a quick fuck?" _

_As Kansas stared down at him, Deans head began to swim, his body ached, 'Don't let this happen again' he begged silently, 'not again', but he didn't respond._

_"Is that a no?" Kansas laughed and leaned in closer whispering in Dean ear, "You were such a good piece of ass—so fucking tight." Dean could feel his knees start to buckle. The words were meant to screw with his mind, he knew that, but it certainly didn't stop it from happening and Kansas could read him like a book. "Remember how you screamed for me?" Kansas let the words seep into Dean's head, rip him apart before he continued, "You begged me… do you remember?" The lack of response seemed to satisfy Kansas for the moment, until the next question was posed, "Did you talk to the cops princess?" This time Dean's refusal to answer set Kansas off as he pulled Dean forward and slammed him back into the Impala, "Did you talk princess?"_

_Dean's eyes snapped up, locked on Kansas', "No." Dean's voice was strained on the verge of cracking. In truth he had talked to them at the hospital, giving them enough information to satisfy them and keep them at bay. The last thing he needed was cops trying to hunt him down for some sort of legal proceeding. There wasn't a chance in hell he was going to testify in court when he couldn't face his own brother knowing the truth. "No." _

_"Good." Kansas smiled, removed his hands and stepped backward causing Dean to fall to his knees, panicked waves of emotion rolled over him as he sucked in air. "Then keep it that way _Dean_." As Kansas turned to walk away he looked back at Dean one last time, a twisted expression on his face, "I'll see you around."_


	12. Chapter 12

So this is it. Thanks to those of you who have left your comments- I have appreciated every one of them! I hope the ending does this story justice, but personally I'm just glad I finally got a chance to finish it and update it.

* * *

"_WHAT ARE THE FUCKING ODDS SAM?" _Dean's words are steeped in anger and hurt, his voice communicating the torment he feels inside.

Sam sucks in a deep breath, and waits. Because these days' waiting is about the only thing he can do.

Dean shakes his head, "I followed him. I didn't have a choice." _By the time he'd gotten himself up off the ground that night, Dean had already made the decision to tail Kansas. In retrospect it was a completely irrational move, but instinctually he knew if he didn't do something he was going to be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life. If he didn't do anything he'd always be waiting. Waiting for more nights like this, waiting for Kansas to appear, waiting for memories to jump out of the shadows and cripple him. _"I staked out his place, I knew I couldn't keep thinking about what happened and not doing anything about it. That and it was the only thing I— I—"Dean stammers, "it seemed like a good idea at the time."

Sam exhales, he knows that with Dean there was always another shoe to drop. For Sam the hardest part was trying to figure out how to let it happen without forcing Dean to clam up and run away. The problem is, there is really no easy way to broach this subject with Dean, and as much as he may want to salvage Dean's sanity and pride, there is only one question that needs to be answered. So he asks it, "What happened Dean?"

"I um… I—my head wasn't in it."

With a quick glance over his shoulder, Sam looks over at his older brother, "Dean…" His voice trailing off as his chest tightened.

Dean bites his lip and looks away. Purposely keeping his eyes trained on the floor below his feet, "I messed up."

Sam sat staring at his hands, trying not to push Dean away, but silently willing his brother to continue.

Dean crosses his arms across his chest, shivering violently as he thought about what had happened next. "He knew I was there. It wasn't like I was being quiet or careful about it... I was just… I don't know…" Nervous energy seems to wrap around him as Dean leans forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees as he laces his fingers together, resting his forehead against them. "So anyway I uh, I got _invited _inside." Dean swallowed hard his throat tightening painfully as he muttered, "Got to spend a little one on one time together, you know?"

Sam feels his heart stop, the breath catch in his throat. He wants to find this guy, _fucking kill him himself_. The tears he'd been holding back were slowly streaking down his face now.

"It was a long night. Not much sleep when you're on your on your knees getting run into the ground."

For a long moment Sam sits in the silence, feels the full weight of what Dean is trying to tell him as it lands square on his shoulders. When he finally exhales he feels like the rage boiling within him is enough to shatter the room, force it to crumble to the ground. It's an all consuming hatred he feels digging into his chest, a complete and total blinding anger. As he sits there planning the meticulous details of a justifiable homicide, Sam is made aware once again of Dean's presence as he feels Dean's body begin to tremble next to him on the bed. "I'll kill him." Sam says, his voice black, angry. "I'll rip him apart."

From beside him, Dean lets out a half laugh, half sob, "I'm not that stupid Sammy, I took care of it this time."

Sam sucks in a deep breath as he leans backward, "_Oh shit…"_

"Yeah…"

"Yeah," Sam echoes Dean as he tries to wrap his mind around the entire situation, _the entire god-awful situation_. Wiping away the tears that streaked down his face Sam sighs. He studies Dean sitting beside him, watches the jerking motions that come and go, hears the muffled sounds his brother is desperately trying to cover up, and finally summons the courage to do something he hasn't done in a long time. Reaching out Sam's hand came to rest on Dean's shoulder, slowly drawing him backward, and pulling him into a crushing embrace.

At first he felt sure that Dean was going to argue, shake him off, but as Sam pulls him in closer Dean seemed to collapse into Sam willingly, his heart-wrenching cries filling the air around them. Dean drew in a staggering breath, his heartache so painfully evident that it stole away Sam's breath.

For what seemed the longest time, Sam held as firmly as he possibly could onto his brother, fearing that if he let go, Dean would run away again, disappear without hesitation. As Dean sobbed brokenly in his arms as Sam continued to quietly reassure his older brother that everything was going to be okay, because as far as Sam was concerned, _Dean had to be okay_, there wasn't another option. Yet, deep down inside himself, Sam was terrified that there nothing he could do to fix what had been done. So many things had blown up in their faces this week he wasn't even sure he knew how to pick the pieces back up, _for himself_ or his brother. They were both so utterly broken down that Sam couldn't even begin to think how to make things right again.

* * *

MINUTES HAD PASSED BY BEFORE DEAN FINALLY MOVES AWAY from the grip Sam has on him. He doesn't entirely break the contact however, leaning his head against Sam's shoulder. He's thankful when Sam doesn't say anything, doesn't break the contact himself.

Dean could feel the rise and fall of Sam's chest as Sam took in a deep breath and cleared his throat, "What do you say we take a break, huh? Find our way to Bobby's for a few weeks?"

"I'm gonna be okay Sam." He says closing his eyes, "I don't need you take care of me."

Sam nods, swallows hard, "This isn't' about you alright," he offers, Dean knows he's saying it to offer him a way to yes without admitting he really needs it, "I'm the one, I need the break."

Dean nods his head, swallowing hard, and breathing out a soft steady, "Okay."

"Okay then," Sam's voice echoes back, "Okay."

THE END.


End file.
